


take my hand, take my whole life too

by xxrisque



Series: fake dating 'verse [1]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, so much kissing oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, I came out to Mum.” Posner drops heavily on to the unmade bed, creasing a few screwed-up papers as he goes.</p><p>“Shite. How’d it go?”</p><p>“Better than I thought, actually,” Posner hums. “Though I do think she’s mostly just pleased there won’t be any unexpected grandchildren in the picture. Except, well. She asked if I was seeing someone, and I thought Dad might take it better if he thought I was, so I said yes. Only that worked too well and now they want me to bring him home over the holidays."</p><p>[ wherein Posner needs to take a boy home to meet his parents, and Scripps will have to do ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my hand, take my whole life too

**Author's Note:**

> in which scripps probably likes kissing posner too much, posner sees no problem with this, and dakin wants to bash their heads together with great force
> 
> ...i'd say i'm sorry except i'm absolutely not
> 
> (i realise their parents are probably way too chill with their being queer, but my dads were queer + out + northern during the 70s and 80s and their parents were really relaxed about it so like, idk personal anecdotes and experience pointed to this)

“Scripps,” Posner opens the moment he’s answered the door, voice barely above a whine as he drags out the ‘i’ sound. “I need a favour.”

“Whatever it is, it best be good. I don’t know if you’ve clocks in Magdalen, but round here it’s not nice to wake your mates up before twelve on a Saturday.” Scripps grumbles even as he lets Posner in to his shambles of a room, dodging the mountains of books and laundry he never got around to putting away.

“Well, I came out to Mum.” Posner drops heavily on to the unmade bed, creasing a few screwed-up papers as he goes.

“Shite. How’d it go?”

“Better than I thought, actually,” Posner hums. “Though I do think she’s mostly just pleased there won’t be any unexpected grandchildren in the picture. Except, well. She asked if I was seeing someone, and I thought Dad might take it better if he thought I was, so I said yes. Only that worked _too_ well and now they want me to bring him home over the holidays.”

Scripps whistles through his teeth and leans back against the wall, saying nothing and raising his eyebrow.

“And I wouldn’t ask, only you _know_ I don’t have a boyfriend or anything even remotely resembling one, and you’re the only person I trust enough to ask. Besides, Mum and Dad love you, at least they’d already approve.”

Scripps stays silent for a very long time, and Posner twitches a little, fingers toying with the fraying hem of his shirt.

“Look, I’m sorry I asked, I’ll just–“ he starts, at the same time Scripps finally inhales and stands up properly.

“Alright, fine. Just let me tell Mum first? I don’t think she’d appreciate hearing about it second-hand.”

“Of course,” Posner smiles like a weight’s been lifted from him, and Scripps smiles back, dropping down to sit next to him. “Thanks.”

Posner leans in and presses the quickest of butterfly kisses to his cheek and Scripps tries valiantly to supress the blush rising in his cheeks. They stay silent for a while, until Posner picks up a random book from Scripps’s desk, leans back on his bed and starts to read. Scripps watches him for a moment, then does the same, holding out an arm to let Posner tuck himself in against his shoulder.

 

*

 

Nothing much changes between them after that, or at least they don’t intend for it to.

“You’ve been looking at Posner funny,” Dakin announces to Scripps one night when they’re on the way back to their dorms from the pub. Scripps frowns at him.

“Have I?” He pleads ignorance and looks away, focusing instead on the cigarette he’s smoking.

“You have,” Dakin replies sagely, tousling his hair. “Sort of like you want to kiss him or fuck him, really.”

“Get your eyes checked, mate.”

Dakin raises his hands in surrender, but there’s a smug smile on his face that Scripps doesn’t like the look of.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave it, seeing as you’re such a happy crack this eve.” He laughs, not without affection, and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, what are you doing over the Christmas hols? Dad wants to know if you’ll be about for the annual festive piss up.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m going Posner’s,” Scripps pointedly doesn’t look at Dakin’s face, and so misses the withering look he gives. “And your dad nearly killed me with his bathtub homebrew last year, so I’d rather not.”

“Shame,” Dakin laughs as they finally enter their dorm corridor. “Cousin Angie’d been hoping she might finally manage to flirt her way into your kegs this year.”

Scripps just laughs, and shuts the door in Dakin’s face.

Posner drops round in the morning, when Scripps is barely awake and slightly hung-over, and he lets himself in without knocking. Scripps grumbles against the sunlight as Posner throws open the curtains, and hides underneath his duvet when Posner settles himself on the edge of the bed.

“We need to talk about things, before we go home,” he announces, pulling a notebook out of his bag. “Set a story straight.”

“Or not,” Scripps laughs to himself, and Posner smacks him lightly in the leg.

“Not now,” Posner says fondly, and Scripps finally surfaces from his duvet nest and looks blearily at him. “Have you spoken to your mother?”

“Not yet. I haven’t been able to find the words,” Scripps admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. Posner hums quietly at that, and fumbles his free hand to find Scripps’s.

“That’s okay. It’s not an easy conversation to have,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Scripps’s hand. He pauses for a second and seems to catch himself, drawing his hand back with a soft frown pursing his features. “Even if it isn’t real.”

Scripps looks at him hard for a moment but doesn’t say anything, fisting his hands in the sheets and stopping himself from reaching out to take Posner’s hand again.

“Anyway,” Posner starts after a minute or so of soft silence. “How are we saying we got together? I probably asked you out–”

“Did you bollocks, I obviously asked you,” Scripps scoffs.

“Alright, fine, you asked me,” Posner laughs with a roll of his eyes, scribbling this down. “And what did we do? Cycle down the river and picnic at dusk, or something?”

“I was gonna say we went for dinner, actually,” Scripps says, frowning at his bed sheets. “Probably somewhere quiet, where we knew none of the lads would see us because we weren’t ready to tell them yet. I had a glass of wine because I was nervous and wanted to impress you–”

“You think wine tastes like loo cleaner.”

“It _does_ , I’ll have you know, but I knew you liked it so I tried anyway because I thought it might make you think I was “cultured” or some shite like that, except you cottoned on and forced me on to lager instead. I had the pasta, you probably had the fish, and you tried to pay the bill at the end but I wouldn’t let you, so we split it. I was too scared to hold your hand over the table during dinner, but I did on the walk home, and when we got to your college I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.”

Scripps finally looks up then, and Posner’s staring at him with an impossibly fond look in his eyes. Scripps clears his throat quietly, and the other boy seems to come back to himself, blushing pink across the top of his cheeks.

“Very poetic,” he tries for a bored tone, and misses by about four miles, voice pitchy and unsteady. “You should write that down.”

Scripps huffs a barely there laugh and looks away again as Posner hurriedly scribbles down something in his notebook.

“And then it just went from there? You wooed me with the one kiss, did you?” Posner raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I’m that easy?”

“Well, no, I brought you coffee when you got on a roll with your essays, and sometimes you’d meet me in the library and we’d just sit together and work, or we’d go for lunch after church on Sundays, and sometimes we’d kiss goodnight, but we certainly didn’t get together overnight,” Scripps carries on, playing with a few loose threads. “But if I _had_ wanted to pull you with one kiss, I could’ve.”

He laughs a bit, and Posner fixes him with a thinly veiled glare.

“Could you, now?”

“Maybe.” Scripps laughs again, a sheepish, lopsided smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You know, your overwhelming sense of modesty was what attracted me to you all along,” Posner deadpans, setting his notebook and pen down on the desk beside him. “Go on then. Amaze me.”

Scripps frowns at him.

“What?”

“You reckon you could pull me with a kiss, do it.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Posner tells him immediately, fiddling with his sleeves. “Though it has struck me that we might have to… Perform. Over the holidays.”

“How’d you mean?” Scripps is still frowning, his eyes firmly on Posner’s face as the other boy searches for words.

“Well, I worry that we wouldn’t make a particularly believable couple if you never come within a foot of me with any romantic intent.”

“You want me to kiss you in front of your parents, that’s what you mean,” Scripps stares at him. “You want me to kiss you in front of your tiny, old, unsuspecting, desperately sweet, Jewish parents.”

“I’m just saying, it might come up.”

“Oh, fucking hell.”

“Look, please don’t feel like you have to, I know I’m already asking too much of you and–”

“Come here then, you massive queer,” Scripps reaches out for him, grabbing him by the shoulder and kissing him unceremoniously. Posner squeaks in surprise at first because, frankly, this wasn’t quite how he saw this conversation going, but he quickly catches on and his hands fumble to find Scripps’s side and squeeze. Scripps shifts his hand to his jaw and pulls him impossibly closer into him, mouth working against Posner’s and the barest hint of tongue brushing at his lips.

Scripps hasn’t much experience with kissing, the one peck from a girl when he was twelve and a tipsy run-in with the rowing team captain notwithstanding, but he thinks that Posner’s almost as soft as a girl, and if he needed to then he could maybe pretend he was one, only he finds it’s much more appealing if he just thinks about Posner; Posner when he laughs at an awful joke, or the smile he gets when he’s reciting poetry, or that look in his eye when he gets going about the Franco-Prussian War, or–

“Well, consider me wooed,” Posner pulls away, his expression unreadable, though Scripps is more taken with the way his lips are pink and kiss-swollen, a thought that in itself worries him somewhat. They stay silent, each transfixed by the other’s expression, until the clock tower nearby tolls.

“Oh, bugger, is it twelve? I’m gonna be late for my seminar and my tutor already thinks me a fool.” Posner scoops up his bag and his book and makes to leave, hesitating for a second when he catches Scripps’s expression. “We’ll talk later, after lectures are done? Work out what we’re gonna tell the others.”

Scripps nods dumbly, words well and truly buried somewhere deep, and Posner seems to consider something for a moment, bag held against his chest. He frowns briefly before his expression smoothes out again, and he ducks down to press a quick kiss to the corner of Scripps’s mouth, then he’s gone.

The door slams behind him, and Scripps stares blankly at the wall while his thoughts desperately chase each other around his head. He tries to remember how to breathe, hands twitching for something to do and mind trying to find something to think about that isn’t Posner, the way Posner kisses, how it feels to hold Posner’s hand and squeeze, the way he looks when–

“Morning, sunshine!” Dakin announces loudly as he lets himself in, still in last night’s clothes. When Scripps doesn’t even react or so much as look at him, he frowns and drops himself down next to him. “Oi. Scripps.”

Scripps still stays quiet, his breathing loud and unsteady, and it’s then Dakin starts to worry.

“Scripps, mate, come on,” he claps a hand on Scripps’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “Calm down. Breathe.”

It takes a few minutes before Scripps can talk again, and Dakin is staring at him like he’s seen a ghost.

“What was that about, mate?” Dakin asks after another minute or two of silence. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

“Sorry, I–” Scripps starts, then seems to think better of it. “You were right.”

“That’s not news,” Dakin barks out a smug laugh. “What about?”

“Last night, you said it looked like I wanted to kiss Posner. I did. I do, I think.” Scripps runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s brought this on?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning away from Scripps to fix him with a look.

“How long do you have?” Scripps laughs a little wetly, and Dakin gestures for him to carry on. “He came out to his parents, except he told them he’s a boyfriend, only he doesn’t, so he asked me to pretend. And that apparently involves kissing him and oh _fuck,_ I’m a mess.”

Dakin hums, because if he doesn’t he’ll only laugh, and turns to Scripps with a firm look on his face.

“Language, Donald,” he tuts, admonishing. “But, can I suggest something? Why don’t you just ask if it needs to be fake? For a smart boy, you’re an idiot.”

“No, don’t be daft, that wouldn’t work,” Scripps frowns, rubbing angrily at his eyes to hide their wetness. “He wouldn’t–”

“Mate, he asked you to be his _fake boyfriend_ ,” Dakin says sagely, staring Scripps down. “That’s a decent enough sign. Now calm your tits, get changed, and come down the pub with me. Rudge wants us to meet his new girl.”

 

*

 

Scripps goes round to Posner’s the next day, and he runs into Akthar on the way in.

“Hiya, Scripps,” he says, raising his hand in a lazy greeting. “Alright?”

“Grand, thanks,” Scripps stops and surveys him. “How’s Posner?”

“Ah, he’s fine,” Akthar smiles loosely. “Bit stressed about his latest assignment, mind, but aren’t we all? Anyway, I’d love to chat but I’d better get a shift on, Annie’s waiting for me in town.”

“Annie?” Scripps raises an eyebrow, and Akthar flushes a little darker. “I see how it goes. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“You neither,” Akthar smiles at him again, then makes to leave. “See you.”

Scripps nods at him, then lets himself into Posner’s room. The boy himself is sitting at his desk and staring out of his window with a frown on his face and a pen in his hand.

“Dakin knows,” Scripps announces by way of a greeting, dropping his bag on Posner’s bed and taking a seat. Posner turns to look at him.

“About us?”

“And the fact we’re making it up as we go along, yeah,” Scripps admits, shying away from Posner’s reaction. “Sorry.”

“Akthar knows too,” Posner replies, smiling sheepishly. “Fine job we’re doing of keeping this quiet.”

“They’d’ve found out in the end, though,” Scripps points out, and Posner sighs in agreement. “At least this way Dakin might shut up.”

“True,” Posner nods, and Scripps holds out an arm to let the smaller boy tuck into his shoulder, and he tries valiantly not to be distracted by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing against his neck. “I’d’ve liked to pretend a little longer.”

“We could still fool Timms, though,” Scripps muses, squeezing his shoulders. “He’s not that observant.”

“Mm,” Posner hums, all but burying his face in Scripps’s neck. Scripps tries desperately to stop his breath from hitching. “Though I suppose it only matters if my family believes it.”

“They will,” Scripps assures him, smoothing a hand down his side. Posner laughs quietly, and leans up to brush a kiss against the line of his jaw. Scripps swallows, then leans in to kiss him properly, because he is all too aware that he has a finite amount of time where this is acceptable.

Posner softens under him and makes a quiet noise into his mouth, and Scripps just tries to commit every sensation and feeling and movement to memory.

 

*

 

He figures he’d better call his mum sooner rather than later, seeing as he’s gone through several pieces of paper trying to iron out quite how he feels about Posner.

So far he’s come to the terrifying –though not entirely surprising– conclusion that he’d quite like to be able to kiss him whenever he wanted, and for Posner to know he means it and isn’t just putting on a show. He’d thought briefly on the face Posner would make if he told him he loved him, and he’d had to stop writing and go and make a cup of very strong coffee to calm down.

He’s sitting at his desk, phone in hand, dialling his home phone number and trying to work out how easiest to break this to his mother. He hates lying to her, mostly because she’s incredibly perceptive and he’s a very bad liar, and she usually sees through him before he’s even finished spinning his story.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, Mum,” he says, fumbling with a pen to give his free hand something to do.

“Oh, Donald, dear,” she replies, smile obvious in her voice. “It’s so lovely to hear from you. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great,” Scripps bounces his leg distractedly. “I just wanted to tell you and Dad that I’ve, well, I’ve met someone.”

“Oh, love, that’s wonderful! Tell me all about them, they must be lovely,” she’s all but cooing, and Scripps cringes into his tea.

“Well, actually, Mum, do you remember Pos– David, from school?”

“Of course I remember David, sweetheart, he was here almost every day!”

“Well, er, it’s him,” he hesitates for a long moment, and his mother stays silent. “It’s quite a new thing, honestly.”

“Oh, darling, that’s really lovely for you. Thank you for telling me,” she says, and she sounds genuine, and Scripps’s sigh of relief must be loud enough for her to hear because she carries on. “Love, you needn’t have worried. Your father and I, we love you, and we want you to be happy. You should bring him over for the New Year’s Eve do, as your boyfriend. Your cousin Susan’ll be pleased, she always did say you two were good for each other.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Scripps laughs breathlessly, relief almost forcing it out of him. “That. Means a lot, really. David’ll be pleased.”

“Oh, love,” she says, her voice soft and like he remembers from when he was little and he’d fall off his bike and skin his knees, and she’d patch him up and stop him crying. “I’m sorry you felt so scared.”

He talks to his mother a while longer, and by the time he hangs up, he feels better than he has since this whole charade began.

 

*

 

They get the train home, all of them together, the week after that, and Scripps holds Posner’s hand under the battered plastic table the whole way there. He reads a book with his other hand, and Posner dozes against his shoulder.

If Rudge notices the few times Scripps turns to press a kiss into Posner’s hair, he doesn’t say anything.

The Cambridge lot are waiting for them outside the station, surrounded by their bags and loitering all over the courtyard. Scripps idles for a moment, then reaches down to take Posner’s hand again. The other boy looks at him, and he must catch the fear in his face because he squeezes his hand gently.

Lockwood stubs out his cigarette as he spots them, eyes falling almost immediately to their joined hands.

“What’s this, then?” He says, eyebrows raised so high they’re almost at his hairline. “Oxford turn you queer already, did it?”

Timms is stifling a laugh into his sleeve, and Crowther is pointedly discussing something with Rudge and looking away. Posner tightens his grip on his hand, like he’s scared of what’s going to happen.

“Not so much, no,” Scripps replies carefully a moment later, voice measured and even. “Realisation’s probably the word you’re looking for, mate.”

Lockwood stays quiet and looks them up and down a few times and digs his hands into his pockets before he speaks again.

“You know, I’d’ve expected something like this from Stu–”

“Piss off, Jimmy!” Dakin pipes up from where he’s been lurking with Akthar.

“–but I thought the whole “religion” bollocks might’ve stopped you.”

Scripps rolls his eyes and laughs, just barely, and Posner rubs his thumb over the back of his hand.

“No,” Scripps starts after a moment of uncomfortable silence, unlike anything they’d felt before. “Oxford’s, different, I suppose. Your priorities change.”

He tugs Posner closer into him, their sides pressing together, and Lockwood meets his eyes for a long few moments. Then he nods, imperceptible and barely there, like he approves.

“Mum’ll be waiting in the car park,” Posner says after another minute’s quiet, with Scripps and Lockwood just looking at each other. “Come on.”

Posner drags him away and down the length of the station front, until they’re well out of earshot.

“Are you alright?”

“Think so?” Scripps frowns, and Posner squeezes his hand, seeing as he still hasn’t let go. “I don’t know. Should’ve seen something coming, though. Thanks for dragging my arse out of there, I was–”

“Don’t be daft,” Posner smiles fondly, cheeks colouring a little. “You’d’ve done it for me.”

Scripps looks at him for a moment, with his hair blowing in the wind and his cheeks pink, and glances around. The only people in sight are their mates, fifteen feet away and not paying attention, so Scripps ducks in to kiss him hard. Posner, to his credit, reacts quickly and shifts a hand to his waist to steady them, and Scripps drops his bags so he can cup his cheek and trace the line of Posner’s jaw with his thumb.

“David?”

Posner pulls away enough to turn around, but keeps a hand at the other boy’s hip, and suddenly realises that his other hand is tangled in Scripps’s hair.

“Mum! Hello,” he extricates himself from Scripps’s hands and runs to hug his mother. She hugs him briefly, then clears her throat. “You remember Don, don’t you?”

“Ma’am,” Scripps nods, voice low, and when Posner looks at him, he’s gone red up to his ears.

“I do,” she looks between the two of them with a pointed expression. “I trust he’s good to you?”

“He is,” Posner tells her, smoothing his hands at her shoulders. He looks over his shoulder at Scripps, who’s scuffing his shoes at the floor and looking like he wants to be out of here as soon as possible. “Do you want to get off, love?”

“If you don’t mind?” Scripps looks up, and Posner can see the breath leave him. “I want to get back before mum does.”

“Of course,” Posner turns and squeezes his hand again, quick, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you,” Scripps is distracted as he scoops up his bag and leaves, Posner and his mother immediately falling into easy conversation before he’s even out of earshot.

He curses at himself the entire walk home, and all the way up the stairs to the flat, and drops his bags in the hallway and heads for the phone.

“I’ve a problem,” he announces, the moment Dakin answers.

“Another one? Did “praying the gay away” not help?” His smirk is clear even when Scripps can’t see him.

“Fuck off, Stu,” Scripps almost snaps back, patience wearing thin. “I keep kissing him, not even when people can see but when it’s just us and just because I _want_ to, and I know he’ll kiss me back so I do and _fuck_ –”

“Might I interrupt?” Dakin interjects, not waiting for an answer before he carries on. “You’re not fooling anyone, mate. That kiss looked as real as any I’ve ever seen.”

“You saw that?”

“You were maybe ten foot away, of course I saw that,” Dakin scoffs. “But you’ve got Timms and Lockwood buying in, either way.”

“I don’t want it to just be this, I just –I just want it to matter,” Scripps is rambling now, and he can feel Dakin tuning out on the line.

“You want my advice?”

“That’s why I called.”

“Fucking _tell him_ , you prick. Or “write it down” with all your other shite.”

There’s a dial tone, and Dakin’s gone. Scripps drops the phone, swears, and kicks the table leg.

 

*

 

He doesn’t see Posner for a few days after that, until it’s almost Christmas.

“Mum’s told me to invite you over for the last night of Hanukkah, if you’re up for it,” Posner announces offhandedly, when they’re idling round the shops in the city centre.

“Can do,” Scripps agrees easily, perusing a shelf of cookbooks and trying to find one his grandmother will like. “I’ve been told –well, ordered, really, to bring you to the New Year’s Eve do.”

“Alright,” Posner smiles, bumping their shoulders together. “As long as you keep your uncle’s horrible children away from me this year.”

“Come on, they’re nice kids,” Scripps laughs, finally giving up and picking up a book at random. “They like you. Call you Uncle Pos, they do.”

“They’re messy and I don’t want their sticky hands on me,” Posner replies primly, but he’s smirking. Scripps rolls his eyes and pulls him over to the tills.

“I’ll save you from the big scary toddlers, you needn’t worry,” he says fondly, paying for the book and leading him outside. “Knight in shining armour, that’s me.”

Posner groans, pretending to swoon as they step back outside into the cold.

“My hero,” he’s laughing despite the wind in his face and the snow that’s threatening to fall, and Scripps leans in to kiss the tip of his nose.

Scripps feels himself blush red when he realises what he’s done, that there’s no one they need to put on a show for even nearby, and he hopes Posner just thinks it’s from the breeze.

 

*

 

Christmas is quiet at Scripps’s house, even with him and his mum and dad trying to work together in their tiny kitchen to get everything finished at the same time, so he welcomes the thought of Posner’s house the next night.

He cycles over, and Posner’s waiting for him outside, tapping his foot and looking cold. He opens his mouth to say hello, but Posner kisses him by way of a greeting instead. Scripps tries to pretend he doesn’t smile into it.

“Hiya,” he says breathlessly when Posner finally pulls away. “Sorry I’m late.”

Scripps stays quiet during the prayer and the ceremonies, and while Posner’s in the kitchen with his dad, he tries to keep the children placated.

“Donald?” he looks up from where he’d been playing peekaboo with one of Posner’s youngest cousins, and his mother looking at him, settling down into the nearest chair.

“Yes, Mrs. Posner?”

“I think you’re good for him,” she looks over her shoulder towards the open kitchen door, where her son and husband are loudly making dinner. “I had my reservations, when he first told me, but he’s happy. Happier than he ever was before, I think. So, thank you, for looking after him.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Scripps says with a frown, scooping up the toddler on to his lap to stop her crying. “He deserves to be happy.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Posner’s father announces, beginning to ferry great plates of food from the kitchen into the dining room. Scripps stands and settles the child on his hip to carry her over to the high chair. Posner comes in then, and sets a veritable mountain of food down on the dining table, before he notices Scripps. The look on his face becomes impossibly fond and, if Scripps were a braver man, he’d say almost loving. Posner leans in to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then carries on with his work.

The night passes without much incident, and soon it’s late and most of Posner’s extended family have excused themselves and his parents have retired for the night, and Scripps finds himself curled up on the sofa with Posner half on top of him, dozing.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, sleepyhead,” Scripps nudges him awake, and Posner makes a pitiful noise against his neck. “If you kip here you’ll only be mardy come morning.”

Posner reluctantly moves, leaning heavily on Scripps until the older boy drops him on his bed on top of the duvet. Scripps smoothes his hair down and presses a kiss to his forehead, and he’s making to leave when Posner reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Stay,” he asks blearily, eyes barely open as he pulls Scripps back towards him. “Please?”

“I told Mum I’d be home,” Scripps says weakly, even though he’s toeing off his shoes. Posner opens his eyes properly, and holds his hands out to get Scripps to lie down.

“You’re a big boy, she knows you’ll be okay,” Posner wriggles his hands until Scripps finally admits defeat and settles down, tucking him up against his chest. Posner fumbles to find his hand and twists their fingers together, pulling Scripps’s hand against the bony lines of his ribs. Scripps can feel the soft thrum of his heart and he smiles, wrapping his free arm over Posner’s shoulder and tugging him in close, burying his face in his hair.

Scripps wakes up in the morning with an armful of Posner and his weight on his chest. He looks somehow younger when he sleeps, all the worry gone from his face, and when Scripps realises he wants to kiss him awake, he knows he can’t carry on like this.

Posner blinks awake then, and apparently has the same thoughts, because he leans up and presses a chaste, soft kiss to the edge of Scripps’s mouth.

“Pos,” Scripps says, pulling the both of them into a sitting position and looking firmly at the smaller boy. “I can’t –I don’t want to keep pretending.”

“Well, I don’t suppose we need to, now,” Posner muses, leaning back against Scripps’s shoulder. “My family seemed convinced enough last night.”

“That’s not –I didn’t mean that,” Scripps frowns, shifting so that Posner has to look at him. “I mean I don’t want to _pretend_.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said,” Posner looks concerned now, eyebrows furrowing. “We don’t have to? We can wait a few days, then tell everyone we had an argument and broke up. I probably quoted one too many Hardy poems at you.”

“No, I _don’t want_ to break up with you,” Scripps says, voice heavy with the knowledge that this is the first time he’s said anything of the sort aloud. “I never have, that’s the thing. I always sort of hoped it was real. Besides, it’d take a lot of Hardy to make me want to leave you.”

“You’re joking,” Posner’s expression is hard now, and Scripps worries immediately. “You’re not serious?”

“I am,” Scripps replies, voice wavering somewhat. “I just–”

“Fuck off, Scripps,” Posner is all but glowering now, his face sour. “You’d’ve said something before now. You’re straight.”

“How’d you know that?” Scripps frowns. “You know, I’ve not exactly had that much experience, and given the circumstances, I wasn’t gonna complain about being able to kiss you whenever I fancied it, was I?”

“Scripps,” Posner’s expression has softened a little, but Scripps is getting to his feet and making to leave.

“It’s alright, really,” he swallows, straightening his shirt and trousers out. “I was –suppose I was taking advantage, really, wasn’t I? Sorry. It’ll be reet. I’ll just–”

Posner aches to reach out and pull him in close, kiss him quiet and tell him he’s got it all wrong, but he doesn’t, can’t make himself move fast enough to catch him by the arm, and Scripps leaves.

Scripps doesn’t go home, and instead takes his bike across the city to Dakin’s house, and even though it’s still quite early, he knocks hard on the door. Dakin himself answers after a few minutes, barely awake and disgruntled.

“You know it’s not even twelve, don’t you?” He grumbles, surveying Scripps’s appearance carefully. “What crawled up your arse and died? Jesus.”

“I told Pos how I felt,” Scripps says with a sad sort of smile.

“And? Everything sorted? Spring in your step and a heavenly chorus following your every move?”

“Not so much, no,” Scripps shakes his head, and Dakin’s expression shifts into one that’s almost pitying.

“Shite, mate, sorry. That’s crap,” he looks Scripps up and down quickly, then an idea seems to come to him. “Pub’ll be open though, if you fancy it.”

“ _Please_.”

 

*

 

He doesn’t expect to see Posner, after that. He talks to his mum again, tells her they’ve had a falling out and that he doesn’t think he’ll be about for New Year’s now, and she hugs him and tells him it’ll all work out. He isn’t sure he believes her, but he appreciates the thought.

It’s late on New Year’s Eve now, and Scripps finds himself entirely too sober for his liking, and his cousin keeps looking at him sadly because he’d had to tell her that no, Posner wouldn’t be coming. He’s nursing his second pint of Strongbow and trying to calm the children down as it heads into the last half hour of 1984.

There’s a knock at the door, but Scripps misses it, busy scooping up one of his uncle’s sticky, messy children up and settling her on the kitchen counter, pinching at her cheeks until she giggles.

“Donald, love, there’s someone here for you,” his aunt Linda leans into the kitchen to talk to him. “Shall I let him in?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he waves a hand vaguely, thinking it’s probably only Dakin come to make a nuisance of himself. He turns back to his baby cousin, who’s kicking her legs about and laughing.

“Scripps?” Posner’s voice rises through the hallway as he enters and immediately seeks out the kitchen. Scripps scoops his cousin up and bounces her on his hip when she starts whimpering like she’s going to cry.

“Hiya, Posner,” he says, trying not to look at the pink across his cheeks and the affection in his eyes. “Give me a minute, yeah?”

The toddler starts to sniffle in earnest then, and Scripps shifts her about and kisses her forehead a few times, which placates her for long enough to get her mother.

“Linda, can you take Jenny for a minute? She’s getting a bit upset,” he passes her off to his aunt, kissing her on the nose before he does. “Cheers.”

“No problem, love,” she smiles, cooing at her daughter. “I’ll see you for the countdown in a few?”

“Yeah, bear with,” Scripps replies, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as she leaves, trying to avoid looking at Posner.

“You’re good with children,” he muses quietly. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect that.”

“I don’t treat them like unexploded bombs like you do, is all,” Scripps laughs, picking up his pint and taking a long drink. “Tends to help, that.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, Posner finding his shoes particularly interesting and Scripps not looking away from the clock.

“What are you here for, Pos?” Scripps asks with a heavy sigh when he can’t take it anymore. “I thought we were done with this.”

“It –it occurs to me that I can be a bit thick,” Posner replies, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “And given I attend Oxford University on a scholarship, that’s something of a worry.”

Scripps laughs softly, and Posner looks at him with curious eyes. Neither of them say anything for a minute or two, and Scripps’s family start talking loudly in the next room.

“I’m sorry,” Posner says to break the silence, and Scripps looks over at him curiously. “I should’ve just done what Akthar said and been brave and just _asked you properly_ like a reasonable adult would, but I thought you were straight, and I _did_ tell Mum and Dad about a boyfriend I had that didn’t exist and–”

Scripps’s family interrupt them as they start the countdown, and when Posner looks over Scripps is staring at them.

“ _You are in love_. _Occupied until the month of August. You are in love_.”

“– _Your sonnets make Him laugh_.” Scripps finishes, and he’s stepped across the room until he’s in Posner’s space. “ _Shit_ , Posner, just–”

His family start cheering in the New Year and Posner fists his hand in the front of his shirt, pulls him forward and kisses him hard. Scripps all but sighs into him, hands running everywhere because he’s allowed to, now, and won’t feel like he needs to stop himself or apologise for it. Posner makes a quiet noise in his throat when he finds Scripps has him against the wall, back digging into the tiles. Someone is singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but it sounds distant and underwater. Posner’s breathing is soft and laboured, and Scripps pulls away for the briefest moment, to grin elatedly and laugh at the flush spreading down Posner’s neck, before he ducks back in and reconnects their mouths.

“ _Eurgh_ , Mummy!” A tiny voice sounds out from around their ankles, and Posner has never hated a child quite so much as he does right now. “Don’s _kissing_. A _boy_.”

“Jenny, love, not now,” his aunt’s voice is soft as she leans in to pick up her child. “Leave them be.”

She smiles at them both and nods supportively, then she’s gone again. Scripps turns back to Posner, who is now a truly remarkable shade of pink, and laughs all fond and quiet, and leans in to kiss him again.

“You love me,” Posner pulls away to stare at him, chest heaving. “You _love_ me.”

“Yes, I think I rather do,” Scripps is laughing, quiet and fond, his face buried in Posner’s hair.

Posner beams, digs his fingers into Scripps’s hip, and tilts his head up to kiss him breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you familiar with Sheffield: Scripps lives in Park Hill estate, Posner's house is somewhere in the Highfield area, and Dakin lives out towards Parkwood Springs.
> 
> the quote near the end is from Arthur Rimbaud's _Novel_ , just with a pronoun switch.
> 
> title is from Can't Help Falling In Love, originally by Elvis Presley (though there is a [lovely cover by twenty one pilots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVsusdrWlKA) that will always remind me of these two).
> 
> [tumblr](http://asexualscripps.tumblr.com) is here; come shout with me about the history boys and tropes that need to be exploited more in the fandom!


End file.
